


Misfortune of Destiny

by Nimewrit



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Bards, Brothels, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loose Interpretation of Dungeons & Dragons Rules, Magic, Mild Blood, Revenge, Tails, Tieflings, unwanted pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23908177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimewrit/pseuds/Nimewrit
Summary: A snippet of the backstory for my Mammon tiefling, Clarion. After escaping his mother's cult, which he was birthed to advance, Clarion chances upon a follower of it. Not willing to risk his mother catching word of him, and wanting to enact some vengeance, he pounces upon prey.
Kudos: 3





	Misfortune of Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> First story I've ever publicly shared, hopefully of many more. Not a practiced writer at all, but felt like splurging out a backstory for my bard in a Descent into Avernus game. Always open to any type of critisism/suggestions/etc. Thanks to anyone who reads.

By birth, greed is in Clarion. By poor judgement, it is within the priest the tiefling sees down the gravel road. "So far from home." He thinks to himself, tail venturing into his sleeve to find his dagger, eyes examining robes. His eyes roll as he still sees the gold trim surrounded the black diamond on the clasp of his cape, such an obvious creature. "Still dressing like shit." He mutters in the direction of the old man. He flicks his hand at a nearby wall, a sheet of ice forming along it, a quick mirror for him to gaze upon his perfection. 

Six feet, six inches, though just barely closer to seven of perfect, to be exact. Topped with the red horns that form a crown around, contrasting the pure silver skin. The speckles of precious metal and gem are beautiful enough to make him smile, glowing as he blushes at the perfect being in the mirror. He looks over the painted nails, platinum today, adjusting the godly silvers and golds he is draped in today. It's reluctant as he moves away from his new mirror, running tongue over his fangs as he moves to trail the human priest once more. 

_"You must protect yourself, I give you permission."_ The Voice says, drawing a hum from Clarion's lips, nodding back and speaking in his Father's tongue. "My thanks. Word getting back to Mother is hardly an option, hm?" He laughs softly, the voice even louder, booming. _"Of course not. Her following lacked drive. Lacked the ability to capitalize on their greatest asset. Give the city a show."_

Shopping is a skill that many people lack, the priest especially, stammering when he haggles. The wares are hardly worth a gold, but his undesirable form earned an upcharge of 8 gold, 6 silver, and a pair of copper pieces. Powdering a single piece of gold, a sliver of crystal, and red thread. _"Torm would look down upon his devil worship."_ Clarion hears, nodding, "A push to purity is all he needs." 

When the priest slips into a building hours later, he fails to notice the gem speckled tiefling that follows, padded shoes, a tight black catsuit, and lessened equipment aiding in his stalking. He fails to hear the sigh over the music playing from the stage, Clarion unable to stifle it as he looks over the laughing workers and gazing patrons. _"A brothel."_ The Voice speaks, Clarion rolling the taste of distaste from his tongue, reaching into pocket to produce some refreshing mint, to the counter. 

"Good evening." He says to the servant who recognizes him, Clarion being such a charming creature with his kind smiles and offered coin. "The Torm follower, that one." He subtly motions with his tail, "Some history would pair well with a fine wine, 10 gold for the wine, and a silver per minute of your breath." The woman smiles, "Keen to get into some trouble, Clarion?" She asks, making him laugh, "Why, of course. We both know how much I prefer you as well." His tail curls up, the elvish woman smiling as she accepts it against her hairband, snapping it and letting the curls flow out, "Such a pleasure, my Devil. The usual room, then." She says, tiefling giving a nod, before heading away as she makes her way to the kitchens, both having their own reasons for being excited over an hour of information exchange. 

"Keep the change." Clarion tells her, manicured hand depositing a shiny collection of fifteen coins into the woman's hand, who smiles, ignoring the fact that he gave none. "A pleasure." The elvish woman says, looking about the neatly prepared room. She leans in afterwards, laying a gentle kiss to his forehead, a purr rumbling deep in his chest, tail curling up to give her chin a scratch. "Stay at side, I would hate another to get the credit of your work here." He tells her, the woman humming, "Of course. Try to keep the mess to a minimum, Clarion." He nods, before she lays another kiss against his forehead, a deep sense of buried enjoyment cracking at Clarion as she leaves, leaving him there as the preparations are set.

No light for the human's eyes to see with. Bed coated in a heavy blanket, to prevent any spillage. Clarion's chest was moved upstairs by her in the hour the priest was impatiently waiting. Hempen rope provided, easier to burn than the silks normally used here. A giddy excitement sits inside the tiefling, nearly an hour of talking leaving him restless at the idea of the proper act here. "A failure, best to recoup our losses. Allow me to take him." He laughs at the dumb, mocking tone he gives the priest, rolling his eyes as he fixes his appearance in the mirror. 

He gives a final smile to himself before turning towards the opening door, _"Four years made him worse on my eyes."_ The voice speaks, "Yes, liver spots you could read fortunes in." Clarion adds in distaste, voice higher than normal in disguise, "How unkind. To the bed." The priest says, too dumb to see the trickery written on the wall. 

The old man nearly trips as he fumbles to the bed, Clarion closing the door with his tail, noting the symbol of Torm that sits on the priest's belt still. "A holy man, how blessed am I...?" He gives in a feigned impressed tone, old man wheezing a laugh, "So very. Come here, bring a light." 

"If only you gave me the capacity to." Clarion speaks to the voice, aloud. "Hm?" The man gives back, Clarion's passenger only offering a, _"On next design, I will ensure."_ Clarion smiles at the words, "Sit back for me, let me find the matches." He hums a soft pattern, producing the arcane claw of his father, taking the candle as Clarion moves closer to the man. A few seconds are afforded to simply gaze at the face, "Hm, how lucky the employees are here, hah..." He gives, the old man giving his dumb smile, only to twist into awe, then fear at the reveal of Clarion in the light. "Destiny?"

The tiefling's face is nicely aglow with the prismatic blush of gem, smirk nicely placed upon his face, "It ruins the illusion that I am older now, hm? Is it women, because it matched my voice as you remembered?" He laughs, tail shooting forward to tap the holy symbol. "Disgust does mix well with flattery, I know I am utter perfection, but it is just... sad, to imagine it came to this." Clarion says almost casually, if not for the small bit of slowness to his speech, stemming from watching the panic form on the priest's face. 

"Your mother! Destiny, you wouldn't dare harm her flock!" The priest says, batting away the tail. "I would dare, but take your chance." Clarion says, taking a twirl as he moves back. "Your symbol is there, smite me." He smiles sweetly, the old man fumbling for the divine focus. "Torm, I beseech thee. Clear the infernal corruption that stands before me. Bring divine justice upon their soul, cleanse the world of their filth." He pushes the symbol forward after the last word, _"Good memory, for such an old thing."_

"What a shame." Clarion says, "Nothing of Mammon, either? Pretty unfortunate deal. Power for nothing, and gold." He slashes with the tail, tip carefully cutting the trim from the priest's robe. "Well, it will at least pay reparations to Chasity. I almost feel responsible for each time you fucked her." He makes a disgusted noise, only to sigh as the old man stands, making a dash to the door.

What dexterity his actual body lacks, his tail makes up for, smiling as it shoots up. "No." He scolds, old man nearly tottering back as Clarion pulls him to the bed. "Stay. I was in that room for how many years?" He looks to the mirror, _"Thirteen."_ Clarion nods, "Yes. Much longer that I would like, hah. You can survive a few hours." Tears come soon after, of course. To soak into the bed and the priest's gaudy clothing, the fountain pen style tip of Clarion's tail deftly shifting to avoid any fluids getting into itself as it points at his throat. "No, no. I can get your money without freeing you, silly." He says with a laugh, "But I am a creature of mercy. Tell me how mother is doing." 

His boredom is key enough that there wasn't really a care for the story that comes through the Priest's crying. A few well placed yawns, a cut or two to see the red pour, even a delivered bowl of spiced soup and bread are used to stave off boredom, "Have you ever been told that your voice is like a family of cats being pulped?" Clarion asks, hearing the Voice laugh, smiling at the approval. "Quite disgusting, no wonder you were only milked for money in the following. No matter, tell me which of your eyes is your favorite."

He stands with a clap of his hands, placing the bowl to the dresser, cleaning it with a wave of arcane before his tail hovers before the eye chosen in confused tones. "Carve it out. That will be the price of your next hour of life. I plan on becoming very powerful very quickly. I have no love for you, none at all. In honesty, you disgust me. From your wrinkled paper skin, to thinning hair, to lack of any strength." He jabs forward with the tail, stabbing into the bridge of the nose, old man screaming, rolling away in agony. 

"That is the only attractive noise I have ever heard from you, hah. As I was saying before you rudely interrupted." He scoffs at the audacity, cleaning his tail on the bedsheets. "A piece of someone who loves you. I read in a book that it is the key to unlocking great power. It was of course an easy item to acquire, with the love people thrust upon me." He hums, closing eyes to picture all their faces, thousands of them. "But there is a wonderful energy to take it from you." 

The man's pleading is incoherent by this point, sobbing horribly between prayers to God, Devil, and Tiefling alike. "I-I could leave! T-Together, all the riches, enough... T-To keep us whole! Destiny! Please!" He gives with his latest plea, Clarion and the Voice laughing in the same moment, loud and disbelieving. "You are sick. And I am not called Destiny. Mother even took the name gifted by the Gods to me wrong." He gives, tail shooting forward to trail under his chin, unzipping flesh with ease, instrument produced, "Ah, no resting. I want you feeling as we tear off your face together. Then jaw, it would be a shame if they could force your corpse to talk, wouldn't it." He says, before falling silent, only left with the sound of his tail carving into the flesh to reveal the jawbone and musical healing, a therapeutic mixture of Destiny bringing destiny to one so desiring of it.


End file.
